


This Shall Be My Dancing Day

by Persiflage



Series: Bondkink Fics [14]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies)
Genre: Bond is Suave, Costume Parties & Masquerades, Dancing, F/M, M is Sexy as Hell, Older Woman/Younger Man, Prompt Fic, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-07
Updated: 2012-12-07
Packaged: 2017-11-20 13:36:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/585935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persiflage/pseuds/Persiflage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bond and M are at a masquerade ball...</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Shall Be My Dancing Day

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the bondkink comm on LJ. The prompt was _(Craig) Bond/(Dench) M. Dancing._  
>  Slow dancing at masquerade party with a ton of UST on top.  
> Disclaimers: Nope, definitely not mine - yet...  
> Spoilers: None (I figure it's set between QoS and Skyfall)

"Remind me why I agreed to this ridiculous charade?" asks M, her tone tart in Bond's earpiece.

He looks up from his spot at the foot of the staircase where he's been waiting for her for the past ten minutes, and his breath catches in his throat: she looks absolutely stunning, there's no other word for it. Her costume is flawless and she looks every inch the eighteenth-century French aristocratic lady.

"Bond."

Her voice is sharper now and he snaps out of his stupor.

"I beg your pardon, ma'am. I was just admiring your costume."

As she slowly descends the staircase towards him he can see her mouth relax into the tiniest of smiles beneath the half mask that covers her upper face.

"Q-Branch did a good job at such short notice," she agrees.

She reaches the bottom of the stairs, and he makes her a flourishing bow, before offering her his arm.

"As for why you agreed to do this," he says softly, knowing she'll still be able to hear him via their private comms channel, "this is our only chance to grab Fell. He's flying out to South America first thing in the morning, and we still haven't been able to locate his base there. And since Eve broke her leg this morning and is currently lying in the Infirmary, and _you_ forbade any of the girls from Q-Branch from being my partner, we were rather short of candidates."

"Always ready with an answer, aren't you James?" M asks as he leads her across the room to get them both a drink.

Bond feels some of the tension in his body begin to uncoil: if she's calling him James, rather than Bond, or worse, 007, then she's not hating this nearly as much as he first thought. 

"I try my best, ma'am, to be ready for every eventuality."

She looks up at him and he sees a glitter of amusement in her blue eyes. She must, he thinks, have been a devastating opponent in her Double-0 days: despite her small stature (he has nearly a foot on her), there's nothing delicate or fragile about her. In fact, she reminds him of nothing so much as the Baby Browning he once saw down in the Armoury – tiny, yet very powerful. And it gives him a thrill to have her on his arm tonight, despite the fact that he thoroughly enjoys working with Eve, who is also devastating in her own way.

Bond gets them both a glass of champagne, and he watches M as she takes in the other guests, knowing that she's also registering the exits (two) and the room's blind spots (he counts two of those also), which they may be able to take advantage of if they can corner Fell near one of them.

"Which one's Fell?" she asks betweens sips of her drink.

"Tall fellow in the left-hand corner by the French windows. Grey wolf's head mask and a black suit with a black shirt and tie," Bond responds softly without taking his eyes from her face. He can feel the adrenaline beginning to pump through his veins, and his heart-rate's increasing in anticipation of what's to come if they play this right.

The orchestra, which has been playing softly on the balcony above their heads, falls silent and the host steps forward to greet them, then encourages them to enjoy themselves.

"Monsieur Balzac has no idea who Fell is, I presume?" M asks as Bond takes her glass, bows to her, then moves in close for the waltz that's just struck up.

"I doubt many people do," he responds, suppressing a shiver of pleasure when she puts one hand on his shoulder and takes his free hand in hers.

As they move gracefully around the ballroom Bond finds his mind drifting: M is not the type of woman he normally beds, but there's always been an undercurrent of tension between them that's at least partly sexual in nature. He suspects it's the fact that she more or less has the power of life and death over him since any mission she chooses to send him on has the potential to be his last, and danger has been an aphrodisiac for him since he was a teenager.

"I trust you're keeping your mind on the job in hand, Bond?" M asks in a low voice.

He looks down at her and she sees in his blue eyes the same thrill of excitement that she's feeling. It's been far too long since she's been a field agent, and she doubts whether she's still fit enough for the kind of mayhem Bond usually trails in his wake on his missions, but tonight's job should be quiet and straightforward (and if it's not, God help him, because she will give him a bollocking), and she can't suppress her pleasure at being here, particularly with James. He, of course, looks as handsome as he ever does when dressed up, and she's forced to acknowledge to herself, at least, that if Fell wasn't in the picture, she'd be enjoying herself even more. Bond's touch, as he steers her around the dance floor, is sure but light, and he moves with an animal grace that makes her wonder what he'd be like in bed. It's not a subject on which she usually allows herself to speculate because she's very familiar with his type, and she's too old by at least thirty years. But the champagne, the costumes, the music, and above all the atmosphere are all having an effect on her, and she feels an unaccustomed zing in her blood that she recalls all too well from her own Double-0 days.

She watches his face, seeing the way his lips tighten and his expression hardens just a fraction, and she knows, even before he begins steering her subtly in a new direction, that he believes he's seen an opportunity for them to take Fell.

He glances down at her, his expression cool and wholly professional, and she gives him a tiny nod and tightens her grip on his hand just a fraction to let him know that she's also ready. He gives her a sudden, almost feral, grin that startles her, and it takes her a moment to realise that he's delighted by how in tune they are at this moment, enough that words aren't even necessary to convey their intentions to one another.

Then he's moving in on Fell from one side, while M approaches him from the other, before she 'accidentally' falls up against him, as if she's tripped. This allows Bond to step up behind Fell and press a small hypodermic syringe into his arm which will knock him unconscious in a few moments.

M's all fluttering apologies for her own (faked) clumsiness as Fell helps her back to her feet, then he blinks, opens his mouth to speak, but instead slumps. Bond catches him smoothly, and the two of them get the other man out of the ballroom, down the corridor, then out of a side door where two more of Six's agents are waiting to manhandle him into a car driven by a third agent.

"You know what to do with him gentlemen," M tells them. "We'll be along later."

The agents nod, then depart unhurriedly, while M turns back to Bond, who quirks his mouth at her.

"Later?" he asks. "I thought you'd want to interrogate him straight away."

"He'll be out cold for a few hours yet," she answers. "So why waste our party clothes?"

Bond grins at her and she feels a frisson of desire. "Why indeed?" He bows, then offers her his arm again, and she accepts with a satisfied smile, certain in the knowledge that this is going to be a very enjoyable evening after all.


End file.
